The Tale of Mountain Glenn
by Jus Sum Dude
Summary: The Tale of a few good men, a few good women, how they died, a city called Mountain Glenn, and a Doctor trying to preserve their story.
1. Chapter 1

Lives that could've been saved.

That's what he'd said. When the young Huntress in red had asked him why he wanted to be a Huntsman, that's what Doctor Oobleck had said. He had looked around and seen the empty streets and deserted buildings, the shattered walls and the broken glass. He had seen a building that had once been a school, and in the central courtyard he had found twisted heaps of scrap metal, and the teacher in him recognized it as a playground. Tiny for a school of this size, probably just enough for one class to have it at a time. He doubted the kids would've minded though. A breeze jingled some of the loose chains that had once connected a seat to the swings, and for a moment the Doctor could hear them. Their elated cries signaling that start of recess. Their disappointed groans when the weather turned bad and they had to stay indoors. The endless rounds of tag, hide-and-seek, red rover, and the ceaseless battle between pirates, or soldiers, or Huntsmen, or whatever had caught the children's fancy that day and the hapless teachers who tried to keep that one whirlwind of a kid from poking someone's eye out. The wet willies, the dares, the double dares, the double-dog-back-out-and-you'll-never-live-this-down-in-a-million-years dares, the cooties, the childish crushes, that one girl who took elementary school relationships way too seriously, and that one boy who would run in terror from the threat of kisses. The promises only children could make to each other, too ambitious to ever be kept, but too earnest to ever be forgotten.

Lives that could've been saved.

.

.

.

A man with blonde hair and green eyes sat on the walls of Mountain Glenn, one foot up so his arm could rest on his upturned knee, while the other leg dangled dangerously off the edge. He wore simple white armor plates on top of a simple shirt and jacket. Although he appeared relaxed, a more observant individual would notice the tenseness in his tall, muscular frame. This particular wall had been nicknamed the Cliff Wall. Unlike the other three, this one had been built right on the edge of a sheer vertical drop, hence the name. While the other walls were still vulnerable to attack, this one was relatively safe, as terrestrial Grimm would have to scale the cliff first to attack it. It also had the best view. Or the worst. It all depended.

Right now Gregory Arc would've had to declare it the second. Even from here, almost half a mile away, in the late afternoon sun his trained eyes could see them. Looming over the trees he could make out their massive, black bodies, ivory bone plates, and tusks that could pierce tank armor. Then one of them turned, and for a moment they locked eyes. Verdant emerald met burning red and Gregory gripped Crocea Mors just a little bit tighter. But the worst part was the sound. Eventually most Huntsmen learn to discern the sounds made by Grimm, and after a while you stop considering the lower-level Grimm as a threat anymore. The barks and growls of Beowulfs, the cawing of Nevermores, the roars of Ursi, the snapping of Deathstalkers, it all blended together into this cacophony of annoyance. An evil annoyance that could still slaughter entire villages of regular civilians, but a mere annoyance nonetheless. Even the giant ones were just scaled up versions of these pests, requiring a little more effort and coordination, but more or less the same techniques to take down. But Goliaths? Goliaths were a different story altogether. It wasn't their size that got to you, nor was it their strength or their ability to shrug off artillery fire. No, what got to him personally was the sound they made. This low, deep moaning that echoed far and wide like the mournful songs of whales or the rumble of an approaching storm. In Arc's mind the sad sound was like some perverse funeral hymn, a grievous melody for the hundreds of lives the beast had taken. Or perhaps for the hundreds more it had yet to take.

As he thought it that very same sound drifted across the forest and crept its way into his eardrums. It sent shivers down the veteran Huntsman's spine. Luckily the walls were insulated so the people inside wouldn't hear it, but Arc hated it, and everything else about them. Their ponderous walk, their lumbering swagger, and that awful, horrid, disgusting, loathsome sound! It plunged his soul into despair, and worst of all it did so not because he didn't understand what it meant, like the superstitious, insubstantial fears of a child hiding under the covers. He had seen these things up close and personal, even fought one and walked away. It affected him because deep down he knew exactly what it meant. It meant he could kill as many Grimm as he wanted. He could slaughter entire legions of Barbatusks, kill enough Taijitu to tie them end to end and encircle the planet, and in the end it would mean nothing. Because the Goliaths were there, and they would always be there. As long as he lived they would be there, when he was dead they would be there, when his gravestone crumbled into Dust they would be there, and when the very memory of him was swallowed up by the eons they would still be there. But humanity might not be. These Grimm were ancient, practically immortal, and no matter how advanced the technology got, no matter how skilled the Huntsmen became, the Grimm would always have the most powerful allies of them all on their side. Time and Patience. For all his training, his expertise, and his strength, in the end his efforts could only hinder their eventual victory, futilely delaying the inevit-

"Dad!"

Gregor was shocked out of his reverie by a small, brown-haired boy with green eyes, a messy pair of blue jeans, and an even messier t-shirt running up to him. Before he knew it a pair of spindly little arms had wrapped themselves around his neck and he was too busy engulfing his son in an enormous bear hug to remember that children, indeed civilians of any sort, were not allowed on the ramparts.

"Uriah!" shouted a tall woman with red hair, blue eyes, and teal-colored armor on top of her boots, shirt, tie, and pants. This severe-looking young woman had no problem remembering.

"Uh-oh…" came the reply. Whether it was the father or son who said it was up for debate.

She stood with her hands on her hips and a clearly disapproving look that seemed to be aimed at both of them. The two boys withered before her gaze.

"Umm… sorry Ms. Storm…" said Uriah, apologizing as best he could despite his utter terror.

The lady sighed before gesturing to a nearby soldier and ordering him to escort the child back to the schoolyard. As soon as the two of them were out of sight, she resumed looking disapprovingly at Uriah Arc's father.

"So…" said Gregor, unsure as to how to proceed. He'd been trained to hunt Grimm, not defuse women who doubled as explosive devices.

"Greg!"

"Natalie," he replied, with as much nonchalant attitude as he could muster.

Natalie Storm gave another sigh. Greg was doing that thing again where he stayed as calm as possible until she stopped being angry.

"Look, if you're going to bring children into this Grimm-infested wilderness, you can at least make sure they don't run wild." The sad bit was it worked. Every. Freaking. Time.

"They're kids," replied Greg, still as chill as ever. "Running wild is kind of their thing. Besides, they're vital to this operation. Having their families around means the workers don't get homesick. That means the work gets done quicker and more efficiently. More importantly it keeps the men from getting agitated. Agitation leads to argument. Argument breeds negativity. And negativity-"

"Attracts Grimm, you've already explained this to me!" finished an ever-exasperated Natalie.

"Oh," replied Arc, embarrassed at his own digression.

Natalie shook her head, but while Greg kept looking down at his feet she couldn't help but smile a little. The man could be a bit of a chatterbox, but that was because he liked to explain things. It was a weird quirk, but she figured he just liked the sound of his own voice. To be fair, it was a cool voice. He could totally do voiceovers for movie trailers if his Huntsman career ever got too exciting. In fact…

"Okay, how about this?" she asked. "You teach at the school with me."

"What?" replied Greg after he was sure he hadn't misheard.

"That way you can keep an eye on Uriah, and I can have a little bit more help. Plus, Uriah won't be sneaking away anymore, since his dad will be right there."

"Hmm… I don't know." Arc had enough problems looking after his own kid. But an entire classroom-full?! That might be a bit much.

"Come on Greg," said Natalie, rolling her eyes. "You'll make a great teacher. Remember when you tutored me in History?"

"Yeah," replied Greg, smiling fondly as he remembered their time at Beacon together. "Math too."

"Yup."

"And Physics."

"Uh-huh."

"Biology."

"Yeah."

"Grimm Studies."

"Well-"

"Civics."

"We really shouldn't dwell-"

"Atlasian Literature."

"Well I don't think-"

"Chemistry."

"Now that's a little unfair-"

"Calculus."

"Hey, the quadratic equation can bite my-"

"Principles of Dust."

"Well if Professor Schnee wasn't so-"

"Family Stud-"

"ALRIGHT, I GET IT!"

She most certainly did, her Semblance triggering a small explosion above both of them. Most of the soldiers and workmen looked up with alarm, worried this was the start of an attack. The Huntsmen and Huntresses meanwhile just smiled and didn't even stop what they were doing.

"So are you going to help me out or not?" asked Natalie, done with this conversation in pretty much every possible way she could be done.

"Alright, I'll do it," answered Greg, reaching up. Natalie grasped his hand as she helped pull him onto his feet. "On one condition," added Mountain Glenn's Chief of Security.

"Oh?" she replied warily.

"Would you go out with me?"

By now the sun was already beginning to set. A rosy glow began to replace the burning orb up above, and you could just make out the shattered moon as it made its ascent through the still blue sky. Far off, the haunting sound of the Goliaths still echoed, but right now it was dwarfed by the sound of Natalie Storm's answer to Gregory Arc's requested date.

SMACK!

"Ow!"

"Fine…"

 **Author's Note: Am I the only one who thinks this site needs a "Share to Facebook", or some other easy, built-in way to share the stories we like to other people?**


	2. Chapter 2

"I never thought I'd say this... But I'm getting pretty freaking sick of hamburgers."

Natalie took a break from her Triple Whammyburger with extra everything to raise an eyebrow at Gregor.

"For the sake of our long and healthy friendship, I'm gonna ignore that previous statement."

"Oh come on," replied Gregor Arc, taking another mournful bite of bread, meat, and cheese. "Don't tell me you wouldn't kill for a pizza, or pasta, or anything else right now."

"I'd kill for food anytime," she answered, swallowing the rest of her burger before moving on to the second. "But that doesn't mean I'd do something as blasphemous as denounce the glory that is Whammyburger."

"I'm not denouncing them," answered Gregor, downing a handful of Whammyfries with a sip of cold root beer. "I'm just tired of eating the same thing every night for the past week."

"You could always break out the emergency rations," suggested the teal-armored Huntress.

Gregor guffawed. "I said I was tired, not suicidal."

Natalie chuckled a little before inhaling the rest of her burger. "Oh please. I know you love it here."

This time, Gregor raised an eyebrow. "I do?"

"Yeah, I can tell," replied Natalie, gesturing around them. Outside the Whammyburger restaurant was a throng of people. It was a fast food joint that offered an astounding variety of cheap and greasy food, and in the middle of the afternoon it was packed with adults looking for a quick bite, kids frantically demanding dessert from weary parents, and teenagers who were supposed to be in school at the moment. The restaurant was perfectly poised at the mouth of the subway exit, smackdab in the middle of the city center. The day was hot, the wind was breezy, and someone, somewhere in the crowd was playing music over a boom box. The heat made everyone want to sit outside, but the wind kept everyone cool enough that they still had energy to chat, and in the midst of it all was a cheerful and upbeat tune was quiet enough to not be disruptive, but just loud enough that no one could resist smiling.

 _Whenever I think. Of. You!_

 _How I wish you only knew_

 _That you might be my dream come true!_

 _But what do I gotta do to make you notice... Me?_

Arc finished his food, attempting to use the action to disguise his smile. It didn't work.

"Told you."

"Shut up..."

Natalie, with a victorious smirk, finished her meal. "So why don't you complain to Schnee?"

Gregor's eyes rolled at the mention of the boy billionaire. "Knowing Blanche he's going to get half a dozen restaurants in here, each of which will have appetizers that cost ten times my salary."

Natalie shrugged as she reached over to Gregor's tray so she could finish his Whammyfries for him. "You could always load up on the free breadsticks."

Gregor chuckled. "Just like Beacon, right?" He finished his meal, neatly crumpling up the wrapper on his burger. "Still, I suppose I should be thankful he managed to get a good burger joint in here, though I doubt he's ever eaten in one."

"Well," answered a crisp, professional voice from directly behind Gregor. "There's a first time for everything."

Gregor whirled around, his hand sliding to the hilt of Crocea Mors instinctively. In front of him was a diminutive little man who couldn't have been more than twenty, his head barely reaching up to Gregor's chin. His immaculate white hair matched his immaculate white business suit, which in turn matched his immaculately stoic, perfectly balanced face. It was immaculately unsettling.

Blanche Schnee raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know it was time for sparring. Could I at least finish my meal first?"

Behind Gregor, Natalie stared ahead, in shock at the tiny man with the blank facial expression. How did this guy manage to sneak up on two Master Hunstmen? Again?! "Do you even make sound?" she asked.

"Yes. Particularly when I'm asking if I could sit down. Which I'm doing right now." He gestured to an empty seat at Greg and Natalie's table. "May I sit down?"

Natalie and Greg exchanged looks before assenting. Technically, as the primary financial backer for the Mountain Glenn project, Blanche could simply order them to give him a seat. The fact that he was asking at all was a mere courtesy.

Ever a man of business, Blanche took small bites from his burger as he asked his two Senior Huntsmen to report their current status. Greg rolled his eyes. Leave it to a Schnee to turn a casual lunch date into a staff meeting.

Natalie took a sip of soda before giving her report. "Some of the Faunus construction workers are complaining about unreceived pay. I've been talking with their foreman about it, but I think I might have to take a look at their timetables myself and see if there's some truth to the workers' claims. In the meantime, they've been filling my inbox with letters. They're even talking about unionizing. Something about a new organization in town, encouraging them to take a more active stance. Some group calling themselves the White Fang."

"Nothing to report outside the walls," began Gregor. "Grimm activity has plateaued in the last few weeks. Patrols haven't encountered anything bigger than a Barbatusk in about a month."

"Very well," answered Blanche, delicately dashing away at his mouth with a napkin. "But I wasn't talking about your professional status. I was wondering about your personal ones." The two Huntsmen looked at Schnee questioningly, causing him to sigh in response. "How are you two doing?"

"Oh." Greg wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. He took a big sip of root beer to give himself a second to compose his thoughts.

"We're fine." Natalie spent more time with their boss, so it was easier for her to be casual with him.

"Good," remarked the white-haired aristocrat. "I take it your dates have been going well, then?"

Gregor's big sip became a loud, hacking cough as he nearly did a spit-take. Natalie smiled ruefully as she rubbed his back. "Yeah, I'd say we're doing pretty good," she answered as she cared for her unofficial boyfriend.

Blanche raised an imperious eyebrow. "Even though your current date is at a burger joint?"

"Not every date has to cost a hundred lien," countered Natalie. "Besides, we like this place."

"Really?" questioned Schnee, looking around himself. Behind the Whammyburger was a gaggle of teenagers with skateboards, cursing and laughing, competing to see who could be more reckless. Someone tripped, and judging from the loud crash and suddenly ceasing music it was probably due to the boom box due to a poorly placed boom box. Somewhere else in the crowd there was another kerfuffle as someone spilled their drink on someone else. "There's graffiti on the wall on the back, it's loud and full of people, and the food is terrible for your health."

"Yeah," agreed Natalie as Greg finally stopped dying, "But that's kind of the point." Blanche raised an eyebrow once more, but allowed Natalie to continue. She gestured to the back wall that Schnee had criticized. It was a huge slab of masonry that had been tagged dozens of times over. Names and phrases were spray-painted everywhere, some small, some as big as cars. Splashes of color and surprisingly intricate designs littered the brickwork, like an impromptu mural of words. "What would be on that wall if it were otherwise? If it weren't for that graffiti you probably wouldn't even notice it. It'd just be another wall in another neighborhood. And now it's something worth noting, something worth talking about."

Schnee remained unconvinced. "It's vandalism."

"Not according to the owner," countered Natalie, "I've talked with him and he says, so long as they don't put anything vulgar, he's fine with it."

"And they haven't?" questioned Blanche.

"There were a few times where it happened," interjected Arc "But it never lasted for long. None of the graffiti lasts for long. Sure, there'll be a bad word or distasteful image every now and then, but in the time it takes someone to report it there'll already be something new in its place."

"So then why do they even bother doing it in the first place?" questioned Blanche. "Why create something if it never lasts?"

"I dunno," Gregor shrugged, "But however long that wall is there, they're gonna make their mark on it."

Blanche tidily finished his burger. "It still doesn't make any sense." As he moved on to his fries, he noticed that some of the teenagers had skated over to the broken boom box. They set down another machine, a small but powerful speaker, and soon there was music in the air again. As the skaters helped clean up the broken mess, the woman who'd spilled her drink apologized to the other woman. She began chuckling, earning a confused look from everyone around her. In between her guffaws came a remark that she hated this shirt anyways. Soon everyone at her table, including the drink-spiller herself, was laughing with her.

"I guess that's just life," remarked Natalie. "Didn't you say the food was unhealthy?"

"Yes, and I stand by that statement," objected Schnee.

"That hasn't stopped you from finishing it."

Blanche looked down for a moment. His burger and fries were gone, presumably lost to his digestive tract. The wrapper and fries container were neatly folded away in the most efficient way to ensure they took up the smallest space possible. He looked up to see the two Huntsmen look at him with a smugness worthy of a Schnee.

"Shut up."

The two burst into guffawing laughter so loudly that neither of them took notice of the quiet little smile which Blanche Schnee successfully concealed from both of them.

.

.

.

Yang Xiao Long stepped over a large, flat piece of steel. Broken glass and tile crumbled into dust beneath her feet. She reached up and gently grazed her fingers along the shattered hinges that had once held the steel door in place. A single glance had told her, but the cold feel of the steel confirmed it. Claw marks. Cardboard boxes which someone had so carefully packed, stacked, and stored in the freezer were scattered all over the place. Their labels were faded, but still legible, and Yang could just make out what those boxes had once contained. Burger patties and heads of lettuce, slices of cheese and packets of ketchup. Their contents had long ago returned to the Dust, much like those same employees who had put them there so long ago. Was this where they'd died? Trapped in the same freezer where they'd worked from nine to five? Staring in terror at a metal door, praying that a thin piece of steel designed to keep chicken nuggets cold would be your savior? Clutching each other, shaky hands grasping whatever they could find? Relics from a lifetime ago bumped into her wandering feet like icebergs on the prow. A chef's apron. A rusty ladle. A large kitchen knife, bent and deformed. The broken circuits of a boom box and a skateboard, torn in half.

Professor Oobleck found his young charge and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"There's a kind of heroism in remembering."


End file.
